


First of her name

by Coven1852



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Dishonored 2, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 21:04:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8683300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coven1852/pseuds/Coven1852
Summary: It is a few hours after the coup that has seen Delilah installed as empress. In this short one-shot, we see a satisfied Delilah, who has finally achieved her life-long ambition. Sitting on her new throne, see contemplates how best to celebrate...





	

Delilah Kaldwin. She was still getting used to calling herself that. It had been many years since she had been a Kaldwin. And Empress of the Isles… she had dreamed of being called that for almost as long but it had always seemed like an aspiration that was out of her reach.

To have inhabited Emily’s body would have achieved it. But she was almost grateful to Daud for foiling that particular plan. In her years in the void she had learnt so much, seen into the very souls of more than she cared to count, not least the Outsider himself. She had gained immortality. And of course it is going to be so much more fun being Empress Deliah then it would have been as Empress Emily.  
Delilah Kaldwin, Empress of the Isles, first of her name. She had still not tired of simply repeating those words in her head. The work of a lifetime finally realised. She reclines in the Imperial throne surveying the collection of corpses that now adorne the grand throne room. It had been a fine day’s work. Yes, Emily had escaped and Ramsey was gone, but that was typical of the Watch; they cannot be relied upon. She would make sure that her security was in more capable hands in the future. 

The girl's escape did not trouble her greatly and it certainly wasn’t enough to ruin this great day. Ramsey was dispensable and Emily is no great threat, not now. The real power behind the throne is right here Delilah concluded, walking over to Corvo Attano in his new form. She caresses the smooth marble gently with her gloved hand, admiring her handiwork. Without her Royal Protector, young Emily hadn’t a hope in the void of restoring her rule. She was a sheltered child whose people are, at best, ambivalent towards her. She has no weapons, no skills, no contacts. At some point in the near future, some ruthless gangster or desperate wench will hand her in for the huge reward in coin that the Duke is in the process of arranging. 

Returning to her new throne, Delilah remembers her closest friend and confident. Brenna Ashworth. She had to let her know that all was well. She sits down and gets comfortable before focusing her mind on the Royal Conservatory in Karnaca. That was where Breanna would be, waiting devotedly by the enchanted statue through which Delilah could communicate. She closed her eyes and allowed her consciousness to travel through the void. Slowly, the interior of the curator’s office emerges from the black. Breanna is knelt before the life-size statue that Delilah now inhabits. 

“M...my empress?” Brenna asks tentatively, stuttering with barely contained excitement and apprehension.

“Empress Delilah Kaldwin, first of her name.”

“Oh Delilah!” Brenna leaps to her feet, “We’ve done it. _You’ve_ done it! All our plans and ambitions, all finally realised!”

“I share your excitement Brenna. Our scheme, so many years in the making, has today come to fruition. I am empress of the Isles and very soon we shall have everything we have ever desired.”

Brenna takes a step towards the statue, towards Delilah, “How I wish I could be there with you, to experience this most joyful of days, to see you on that throne…”

“I regret that you cannot be here today, but I need you in Karnaca, keeping a handle on things while me and Luca are here. You know you’re the only one I can trust.”

Brenna nods solemnly, before taking another step towards the statue to which she is talking, so close that she can see her breath condensing on the cold stone, “Please say you’ll be back soon,” she whispers breathlessly, “I already miss you so…” she places her hand in Delilah’s.

Through the void Delilah can feel the almost electric spark on her own palm. Her unconscious body, back in the throne room, twitches slightly, “You know there are few places I would rather be than with you Breanna…”

“Then let me come to Dunwall!” she pleads, tightening her grip, “We have hardly been apart for three years and I had forgotten the pain our separation brings me. It is almost too much to bear, please, I can leave Francesca in charge here, or send the Duke back! Either way, I must be with you, I must see you on that throne!”

Delilah is silent for a moment. She thinks of the portrait she had painted some time ago of her beloved. The title, _My Fires Burn within Breanna’s Marrow_ , was true then and if anything even truer now. Delilah had bedded more men than she cared to count for more reasons than she could ever hope to recall, but all of them paled in comparison to Breanna Ashworth. Yes, Sokolov had always been as proficient between the sheets as he seemed to be in every other pursuit he busied himself with… And Bille Lurk, she had been special… But there was no one quite like Breanna. She could feel that fire, deep down in her bones, a special kind of passion that can only blossom between kindred spirits, that is enhanced intangibly by the Outsider’s mark and the possibilities it brings.

Almost subconsciously, Delilah’s hand, in its corporeal form, creeps into her trousers. Breanna senses exactly what she must be doing and begins to silently strip off. By now, Delilah’s hand is deep inside her knickers. Her every breath is so quick it seems almost stolen. Her semi-permanent expression of scorn and pent up anger is replaced by a softer, more delicate one as her lips part sensually, quivering as if expecting Brenna’s kiss. 

Presently, the doors to the throne room are thrown open. Delilah, immediately and painfully, snaps out of her intimate communication. Breanna’s perfect figure slowly fades. Delilah blinks and squints. Duke Luca Abele is striding up the blue carpet toward the throne. He is flanked by two Grand Guards. Suddenly remembering what she is doing, Delilah hastily withdraws her hand from her pants and crosses her legs, almost embarrassed (but not quite, Delilah had never allowed herself to embarrassed for years) at being caught in such a compromising position. The looks on the faces of the guards reveals that she had failed to adequately disguise what she was up to…

“I appear to have caught you at a bad time my empress!” the Duke laughs, “But who am I to question how you celebrate your success,” he turns to the guards, “Leave us! Remain on the door. No one is to disturb us.”

Not without some hesitation do the men leave, casting a fleeting, mournful looks back.

“Do they have no shame?” Delilah wonders, eyeing them suspiciously.

“I should think not,” the Duke reads her mind, nodding back at the departing soldiers, “And you can’t blame them…” It is his turn now to eye Delilah hungrily. She had captured that look in her portrait of him, _His Eyes Upon Me_. It was a look that betrayed Luca’s uninhibited obsession with her.

The empress considers the rather rotund man before her. She had called out to him from the void, ensnared him three years ago with an explicit purpose in mind. And with this coup a success, that purpose had been fulfilled. She could quite easily dispose of him here and now. Yes, he had been kind to her, showered her with gifts and provided invaluable help in achieving her ultimate ambition. But he was just like all the others: Sokolov, Timsh, and all those before and since: a means to an end. But also a man who wanted something from her. More often than not they wanted not Delilah’s talents in art or witchcraft or intrigue, but her body. And yet it was that sexual power that she wielded over men that had got her to where she was today.

To kill the Duke, here and now, would give her immense pleasure. But to do so would also endanger her grip on Serkonos. In all likelihood she would have to appoint Breanna as Duchess. And that would mean they would be apart for much longer. No, the Duke had not yet outlived his usefulness. So she would not kill him. And she would let him have his way with her. After all, it was by no means the worst price to pay for his compliance; despite appearances, Luca was by no means the worst she’d had…

She stands up abruptly and places her hand on the Duke’s face. Her expression is hard and cold again, a far cry from the fleeting softness of her encounter with Breanna. She rarely lets that side of her show and certainly never with men. Fortunately, she knows from experience that many a man in the Isles is susceptible to her particular brand of seductive aloofness.

“We have done it my dear,” Abele murmurs, “Here we are, Dunwall Tower. The Empire is ours.”

“ _Mine_ ,” Delilah corrects him, before going in for the kiss to pre-empt any kind of dissent. My, my, she’d forgotten how good a kisser the Duke is. Then again, he’s had plenty of practice.  
They part briefly. She looks up into his eyes. By now she had long been a master of a certain look, a distinctive glint in her eye that could seduce almost any man in a moment. Sure enough, it works. Unable to help himself, Luca takes a hold of Delilah’s elaborate midriff-length jacket and tears it open, the centre diamond that that held it together at the bust being ripped clean off.

“Duke Abele…” Delilah gasps in faux outrage, running her hand through her cropped hair then his, “Not very noble behaviour!”

He doesn’t respond to Delilah’s sarcasm and instead moves down, unzipping and peeling off her tight trousers as far as the base of her shapely thighs. Delilah is still wet from her encounter with Breanna. She fully intends to obtain the satisfaction she has been so recently denied.

“Sit down Luca,” she shoves him onto the throne, he submissively complies. Delilah straddles the eager Duke. She pauses for a delicious, stolen moment. Here she is, in the Imperial throne room of Dunwall Tower, the Duke of Serkonos between her thighs, her name ringing out across the Isles. Empress Delilah, first of her name. By the Outsider, she was going to enjoy this.


End file.
